


honey, i'll be seeing you down every road

by slytherincosette



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst and Humor, M/M, Make Up, Miscommunication, Underage Drinking, because i am literally incapable of writing anything serious, estranged!reddie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 05:49:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17677598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slytherincosette/pseuds/slytherincosette
Summary: “You look stupid,” he says, and he hears Bev snort behind him.Richie’s eyebrows fly into his hair. “Geeze, Eddie, tell me how you really feel.”“Gladly,” Eddie says, blatantly ignoring the sarcasm. He pokes Richie a little harder this time and continues. “Your hair is too flat. You’re not wearing your glasses and I hate it. Your clothes fit properly and your shoes areclean, Jesus Christ.”Richie blinks once, twice. “You’re mad because I...did my hair?”“Yes!” Eddie bursts out, and he pokes Richie one more time for good measure.-Eddie is drunk and In His Feelings. Richie makes an effort. Bev is so done with the both of them.





	honey, i'll be seeing you down every road

**Author's Note:**

> apparently i only write estranged reddie now it's fine. i wrote the first half of this forever ago and it eventually morphed into what is now "a long way back to the light" but this is ENTIRELY SEPARATE and there two fics have...basically nothing in common aside from the fact that for various reasons richie and eddie don't talk anymore. anyway. hope u enjoy!!

Eddie sits on the fuzzy toilet seat cover, arms crossed over his chest like a shield. There’s loud music thumping outside the door, teenagers screaming and singing and doing things that teenagers do. Teenagers that aren’t Eddie Kaspbrak, because Eddie’s in the bathroom, hiding from his best friend of ten fucking years because Richie is a _douchebag_. 

Richie, who used to stick to Eddie like fly paper, is off galavanting around with the kids he used to hate. He’s muted, now, less like himself. It’s like someone took Richie in all his vibrancy and turned down the brightness. He even wears fucking contacts now, which makes Eddie’s blood boil. The worst part is that all of Richie’s jokes are more _appropriate_ for a tamer audience. No one’s bragged about fucking Eddie’s mom in months and it’s incredibly unsettling.

Eddie never thought he’d miss those shitty accents, but Jesus, he does.

And so Eddie is in the bathroom, hiding from his favorite person in the world. His _old_ favorite person in the world, because this new Richie fucking sucks. 

He doesn’t know how long he’s been in this self imposed prison because his phone is dead in his pocket. The door is locked and Eddie stares directly ahead at the horribly cliche painting of a boardwalk at sunset, wishing he was anywhere but Greta Keene’s stupid beach-themed half-bath. 

Someone knocks on the bathroom door and it shakes Eddie out of his thoughts. “I’m shitting,” he yells back, checking to see that the door is still locked. There’s a loud giggle, and the knocking stops. Eddie breathes in, out. Counts to ten. Sits back down.

Eddie thinks that he shouldn’t be surprised. Friends drift apart all the time. He just never thought it would happen to him and Richie. He thought he’d _always_ have Richie, in some capacity. He’d take whatever Richie offered.

There’s another knock on the door, softer this time. A tear drops onto Eddie’s jeans and he wipes at his face aggressively. Crying is mortifying. Feelings are dumb. Fuck this, Eddie needs to get drunk. “I’m still shitting,” Eddie yells, blinking rapidly.

There’s a pause, and then, “Eddie?”

Shit, it’s Bev. 

The knob jingles. “Fuck,” Eddie swears intelligently, “One second, Bev, hold on.”

Eddie digs the heels of his palms into his eyes, willing himself to chill out for like, _one second_. He takes a few deep breaths and almost manages to calm down before he remembers that Bev can pick locks.

With a final wiggle, the door opens and Bev slides in. She looks beautiful as always, hair chopped into a bob and eyeliner perfectly winged. She closes the door behind her and unceremoniously drops to the floor, legs crossed in ripped jeans. “Doesn’t smell like you’re shitting.” Bev observes, cocking her head to one side. “Also, your pants are still on.”

“Nothing slips by you, huh?” Eddie asks, staring pointedly ahead and blinking hard. He feels the tears coming back, full-stop. It’s about to get ugly, ‘it’ being Eddie’s face. He gets all blotchy and gross when he cries. It’s a character flaw.

“I have a gift,” Bev says, grinning crookedly. “You good, babes?”

“Define good?” 

“Let me rephrase that. What did Richie do now?”

Eddie lets out a shaky laugh and the flood gates open. He hears Bev flick the lock and whisper, “Oh, Eddie,” before crawling over to him and laying her head against his thigh. Tears stream down his face and he wipes at them angrily.

“I tried to...to say hi, and he just looked right through me. Completely ignored me. And I know he heard me because his eye twitched and he fucking bolted. I don’t even know why he hates me! I didn’t fucking do anything.”

Bev picks at a loose thread in Eddie’s jeans. “He doesn’t hate you. He’s just fucking stupid.”

They’re silent for a few moments, no sound but Eddie’s hiccuping. “Bev?”

Bev shifts so that she’s looking up at him, face smushed against his leg. “Yes, my darling?”

“I still like Richie.”

Bev sighs, a tiny little thing, but there’s no judgement in her eyes. She seems to consider him for a moment, before shrugging. “Well, there’s no accounting for taste.” Eddie lets out a sharp bark of laughter that takes him by surprise. Bev sends up a wicked grin and pokes at his knee. 

“I love you, Beverly Marsh,” Eddie sighs, and Bev smiles at him, bright and open. 

She reaches up and tugs him down for a bone crushing hug. “I love you too, Eddie Kaspbrak. Now let’s go get you drunk.”

They run into Mike on the way out--literally, _run into_ Mike--who sloshes his drink on himself and laughs. “Michael!” Bev exclaims, throwing her arms around his neck.

“Beverly!” He yells back, with even more enthusiasm. He lifts her off of the ground with one arm and spins her around. Setting her down, he turns and cries, “Edward!” before doing the same thing to Eddie. Eddie laughs. “Does Benjamin know that you’re stepping out on him with our very own Eddie Kaspbrak? All locked up in the bathroom, doin’ nasty things.”

“Well, he knew what he was getting into, dating a _nasty_ girl like me,” Bev says, and there’s a gleam in her eyes that makes Mike reach out to ruffle her hair.

“That’s my fuckin’ girl,” Mike says fondly. “Stick it the the patriarchy.”

“Fuck ‘em right in the ass,” Eddie adds solemnly, which results in roaring laughter from Mike and an appreciative fist-bump from Bev. 

“Do y’have a drink, Eddie?” Mike asks, and when Eddie shakes his head, Mike thrusts his cup into Eddie’s hand. “Here, take mine, God knows I’ve had enough. Vodka cran, baby!”

“What a gentleman,” Eddie says graciously. He promptly drinks the contents of the cup in one go, nearly coughing as Mike slaps him on the back in excitement. “I need another one.”

“Here, here!” Mike roars.

An hour later, Eddie has had quite a bit to drink, and Bev is overreacting. He might be stumbling, okay, but he’s not _that drunk_. He just feels _good_. There is no need for Bev to be following him around like she’s afraid he’s going to fall down the stairs or some shit. Eddie can _walk_ , thank you very much.

“Bev,” Eddie says, very seriously, “Go make out with Ben. I am fine. I promise.”

Bev, for her part, just looks amused. “Oh, I plan on making out with Ben and much more as soon as I make sure that you get home safely, my little lovebug.”

Eddie reaches forward and takes Bev’s face in both of his hands. He squeezes lightly until her cheeks smush up. “You are so cute,” Eddie tells her, “And I love you.”

Bev’s face goes all fond, as much as it can while it’s being squished by Eddie. “I love you, too. Do you have a ride home?”

Eddie frowns and lets his hands drop to his side. “I don’t think I can go home like this. I think my mom would die right in front of me and like, she sucks but...that’s bad karma.”

A familiar cackle behind Eddie makes them both jump. Bev narrows her eyes at someone over Eddie’s shoulder, chin tipped up impossibly high. “Richard,” she says, quirking an eyebrow, “Can we help you?”

“Sorry, uh, Eddie just...got off a good one, is all.”

Eddie whips around, only to find himself face to face with Richie’s chest. “I wasn’t trying to be funny,” Eddie mutters, stepping back. He stumbles a bit and falls against Bev, who barely manages to hold the both of them up. She huffs out a laugh and pushes him up, but Eddie currently lacks all coordination and goes sprawling into Richie.

Warm air ruffles Eddie’s hair as Richie laughs. “You’re always funniest when you don’t try, Eds.”

“Don’t call him that,” Bev says, crosses her arms. Eddie looks up just in time to see Richie’s smile fade.

“S’my line,” Eddie mumbles, using Richie’s stupid, lanky body to steady himself. Tries very hard (and fails) to ignore how close he is to Richie’s...everything. Once he’s (mostly) stable on both feet, he pokes Richie square in the chest and demands, “What do you want?”

Richie’s hand goes to the back of his neck, scratching awkwardly. He suddenly won’t meet Eddie’s eyes, which is pretty par for the course at this point in their lives. Eddie’s left extremely confused as to why Richie’s even talking to him in the first place. He squints, suspicious. Takes in the plain t-shirt with nothing rude written on it, the jeans that actually fit, the way Richie’s curls have been tamed by some miracle hair product.

Eddie is abruptly furious.

“You look stupid,” he says, and he hears Bev snort behind him.

Richie’s eyebrows fly into his hair. “Geeze, Eddie, tell me how you really feel.”

“Gladly,” Eddie says, blatantly ignoring the sarcasm. He pokes Richie a little harder this time and continues. “Your hair is too flat. You’re not wearing your glasses and I hate it. Your clothes fit properly and your shoes are _clean_ , Jesus Christ.” 

Richie blinks once, twice. “You’re mad because I...did my hair?”

“Yes!” Eddie bursts out, and he pokes Richie one more time for good measure.

Bev grabs Eddie’s elbow gently and tugs, says, “Babe, I think it’s time for you to go home.”

“I can’t go home,” Eddie whines, “My mom will die and take me with her.”

“I can take him back to my place.”

Both Eddie and Bev’s heads snap to Richie in tandem. Richie shoves his hands deep in his pockets but finally, _finally_ meets Eddie’s eyes. 

Bev glances between them, uneasy. “I don’t know if that’s a good--”

“Why?” Eddie asks, much more loudly than originally intended. Whatever. Volume control is not a priority right now.

Richie scratches the back of his neck again, a nervous tick that Eddie’s seen a million times because Eddie’s the vast majority of his life watching Richie. This particular quirk has never been directed at _Eddie_ before, because as far as he knows, he has never made Richie nervous. “I haven’t been drinking and I have my car and I just...I can take you. If you want.”

Eddie watches him for a long moment. “I’m not going to sleep with you.”

Richie promptly chokes. “Jesus, Eds, I wasn’t going to--I wasn’t--that’s not--”

Eddie starts walking towards the front door before Richie manages to get a whole sentence out. Bev’s voice floats after him, amused. “Think that’s your cue to leave, bud. Good luck.” Eddie makes it to the porch before Richie catches up. He spots Richie’s shitty pick up and his heart does a weird little flip. 

“You’re not gonna puke in my car, are you?” Richie asks, a little wary.

Eddie considers this. “Probably not. S’already a piece of shit, anyway.”

Richie lets out a sharp, surprised laugh. “Yeah, you’re fuckin’ right.” 

They drive back to Richie’s in complete silence, Eddie concentrating very hard to not let the images flashing through the window make him dizzy. Fuck, he’s so much drunker than he thought he was. Fuck, he’s in _Richie’s car_.

Eddie manages to stumble towards Richie’s front door without falling, a small miracle. Richie holds his arms out to brace any possible fall and it would be sweet if Richie wasn’t the absolute worst. Richie jiggles his keys in the lock until is clicks and pushes hard against the wood to swing it open, because the Tozier’s front door has been a little broken for as long as Eddie can remember. It’s that small detail, the sudden familiarity, that leaves Eddie crying on Richie’s doorstep.

Richie only gets a few steps inside before he turns around and realizes that Eddie has had a sudden and very severe mood change. “Eddie? Eddie, what’s wrong? Do you feel sick?”

Eddie hiccups, loud and wet. It’s really gross. Eddie would be embarrassed if he had any shame left, but he doesn’t. “Why aren’t we friends anymore?”

Richie’s entire face falls. “Eddie--”

Eddie sniffles, wipes at the back of his nose with a sweater paw. He feels approximately three feet tall. “I just...I just don’t know what I did? Or why you won’t talk to me?”

Richie takes a few steps forward and stops rather abruptly a few inches away. He looks on edge, like he’s not sure exactly what he’s allowed to do here, which is his own fucking fault. Stupid Richie. And stupid Eddie, for letting a _boy_ get him so fucked up. “You didn’t do anything, Eddie,” Richie says, and his voice breaks a little. “It was my fault, okay, and I regret it every goddamn day.”

Eddie hiccups and sways.

“You’re drunk,” Richie says, which, fucking duh, “You can sleep in my room, I’ll take the couch. If you want...if you want to talk in the morning, we can. Or you can tell me to fuck off and I’ll drive you home. Either one is fine.”

Eddie pauses for a moment to think. “Can I do both?”

Richie huffs out a wet laugh. There are tears in his eyes, Eddie notices. Weird. “You can absolutely do both.” 

He lets Richie lead him up the stairs, pulling a face every time Richie glances back to make sure he’s okay. This only makes Richie laugh at him, which is not the desired outcome, but he guesses its better than Richie getting all weepy. Clearly, that’s Eddie’s thing tonight.

Richie’s room looks the same, and for some reason that makes Eddie want to cry even more. Knowing that his Richie’s still in there, trapped under miles of hair gel and stupid contacts, somehow hurts worse. Richie’s still the same underneath it all, biting down on _your mom_ jokes and listening to old records in the quiet loneliness of his room. 

Miserably, Eddie faceplants on to Richie’s bed. The sheets smell like Richie’s cologne, and everything is terrible.

“You okay?”

“Mmph,” Eddie say intelligently.

“Cool,” Richie says, and Eddie can hear the smile in his voice. There’s some rustling, and then Richie trips and curses under his breath. The light turns on in Richie’s bathroom and Eddie hears the faucet running. A glass of water is placed carefully on the bedside table. “Make sure you drink this. I’ll grab the trash can and--”

“Richie.”

“...Eddie.”

Eddie moves his head so that he’s facing Richie, cheek smushed against the blankets. Richie tilts his head and looks down at him, expression uncharacteristically serious. “Can you stay?”

“Eds--Eddie,” Richie corrects himself, and it feels wrong, “I think it’s probably for the best if I just sleep on the couch.”

“No,” Eddie whines, dragging it out, just to be annoying. He watches Richie crack a fond smile and thinks, _sick._ “No shady shit. Not gonna sleep with you. Let’s just pretend to be friends again, okay? I miss you.”

Richie swallows thickly. “I miss you, too,” he says, voice all wobbly and sad, “So goddamn much.”

“Then c’mere, stupid,” Eddie mumbles, already half asleep.

There’s a pause, and then Richie slowly climbs into bed beside Eddie. He’s stiff as a board and keeps a careful distance, one hand falling listlessly between them. Eddie covers it with his own and squeezes. “Stop thinking so loud,” Eddie whispers. “Sleep.”

Richie offers a watery smile. “Okay, Eds,” he whispers back, but Eddie’s already asleep.

-

Eddie wakes up in Richie Tozier’s bed with a pounding headache, and neither of those things are particularly ideal.

His mouth tastes like cotton and the water sitting on the side table looks like heaven, only Richie’s head is on his chest so he can’t reach it. If he moves, he runs the risk of waking Richie, which is he doesn’t want to do for several reasons; the first being that he will have to _talk_ to Richie while he’s _sober_ , and the second being that...Richie looks really cute when he’s asleep. 

He remembers last night, every last detail. He remembers crying a truly mortifying amount. 

Goddamnit.

Richie snuffles against Eddie’s chest and drools a little. It shouldn’t be endearing, but it really fucking is. They used to sleep like this all the time when they were kids (and a few times when they weren’t kids, both straight-up refusing to talk about it afterwards).

Eddie wonders if today will just end up in the long list of things they don’t discuss.

He sighs, watches the rise and fall of Richie’s chest. Without thinking, he brings his free hand up to tangle his fingers in Richie’s hair, and of course that’s the exact moment that Richie’s eyes snap open.

“Uh,” Eddie says.

Richie blinks. “Are you...playing with my hair?”

Eddie squints. “No?” he says, with his hand still firmly on Richie’s head.

“We’re cuddling,” Richie says, which, yeah, thank you, Eddie hadn’t noticed.

“In my defense, you’re on top of me.”

“I’m always on top.” Richie says it like a reflex, casual and unabashedly _him_.

Eddie can’t quite fight the fond smile that makes its way onto his face. “You keep telling yourself that.” Richie snorts and pushes himself up, accidentally elbowing Eddie in the side. “ _Ow_ , you gangly bastard.”

Richie’s apology includes a sympathetic smile and handing Eddie the glass of water, which Eddie gulps down like a fiend. “How d’you feel?” 

“Like a piece of shit that got microwaved.”

Richie looks positively delighted. 

“Wipe that stupid look off your face, Tozier,” Eddie grumbles.

“How can I when you’re in my bed?” Richie quips back, as easy as it used to be. They both freeze, wide eyes trained on each other’s faces, searching. Waiting for the other to move. “Uh,” Richie adds, eloquent as always.

“Oof,” Eddie says.

“Yeah.”

A pause, and then, “Hey Richie?”

“...Yeah?”

“Fuck off.”

Richie lets out a loud bark of laughter that feels like an icepick to Eddie’s temple, but he smiles all the same. “Is that you telling me you want me to drive you home?”

He looks a little uncertain, a little bit drained. Like he’s resigned to the fact that he fucked up, that Eddie doesn’t want to talk, that this little slice of peace is all the closure they’ll ever get.

“No,” Eddie says, “I mean, yeah, eventually, I would appreciate a ride home but. Can we...can we talk?”

Richie startles. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d, uh, yeah.”

“You’re doing really great with the whole sentence thing today.”

“You make me nervous,” Richie says, all open and honest and terrifyingly bare. It’s not the kind of response Eddie was expecting _at all_ , but okay. They’re just...doing this. Jumping right in. Cool. 

Eddie swallows thickly. “I never used to.”

“Yeah, well,” Richie shrugs. “That was before.”

“Before you decided to stop talking to me,” Eddie says, and if it sounds a little accusatory, well. Richie deserves it.

Richie laughs humorlessly. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

For a moment, neither of them speak. Eddie’s propped up against Richie’s headboard, comforter covering his legs, hands firmly in his lap. Richie sits on the edge of his bed like a stranger in his own room. His hair is stuck up at all angles and he’s wearing his glasses. The whole picture is so achingly familiar Eddie could throw up.

(Although, that could also just be the hangover.)

Richie takes a deep breath, opens his mouth. Closes it. “Fuck, this is hard,” he says, looking pained. 

Eddie reaches out and very gently pats Richie’s hand. Very solemnly, he declares, “That’s what she said.”

For some reason, this causes Richie to burst into tears.

Eddie is immediately alarmed. “Fuck, I didn’t mean to--I was just trying to lighten the mood--I’m--”

Richie flops back onto his back, throws an arm over his eyes. His face is scrunched up and red and he’s making these pitiful little hiccupping noises. “Goddamnit, Eddie,” Richie sniffles, “I love you so fucking much. You’re so easy to love, do you know that?”

Eddie freezes. “What?”

Richie curls onto his side miserably, glasses half falling off his face. He staunchly refuses to meet Eddie’s eyes, pressing on like he’s walking into battle. “I stopped talking to you because I have a stupid, massive crush on you and by the time I like, processed it you were so mad at me and I didn’t know how to fix it so I just like...dipped? And then it spiralled and I didn’t mean to, okay, but everything went to shit and everyone was mad at me for avoiding you and so I just made new friends but my new friends suck and I miss everyone, I miss _you_ \--”

Eddie hits Richie in the face with a pillow.

“Eddie, what--”

“You mean to tell me,” Eddie snaps, “that we could have literally been dating this entire time?” 

Richie sits up, glasses and hair askew, looking utterly confused. “We could have--Oh.” He stops, turns a haunted look on his pillow like it can commiserate. “I’m an idiot.”

“Yes!” Eddie yells, feels his eyes bugging out of his face. It’s probably not a cute look. “Yes you fucking are!”

“Oh,” Richie says again. A pause, and then, “Can I kiss you?”

“No!” Eddie says, scandalized, “I’m mad at you. Give me the pillow back so I can throw it at you again.”

Richie dutifully hands the pillow back and accepts his punishment with grace. Eddie accidentally knocks his glasses off, but he can’t bring himself to feel anything but mild satisfaction and a whole lot of _pissed off_.

“I can’t fucking believe you.”

“I’m sorry, Eds, holy shit, I’m so--”

“You should have just talked to me!”

“I’m realizing that _now_ , but we both know conflict resolution isn’t my strong point--”

“There was no conflict, Richard!”

“Admittedly, you might have a point there.”

“Yeah, no shit I have a point.”

“I just--Mmph!”

Eddie kisses Richie. He can’t help himself. Being this close to Richie after so long is addicting in the best possible way, and he knows he should be mad. He should be so, so mad, furious even, but all he can manage is a frustration over lost time and a desperate need to make it up.

“I thought you didn’t want to--”

“Oh my God, stop _talking_.”

“I just really think we should probably talk? Like, not that kissing you isn’t the literal best thing that’s ever happened to me--”

“We will talk about this later, _in detail_ , and you will grovel.”

“Sounds kinky. I’m in.”

“ _Richie._ ”

“Now who won’t stop talking?”

“Do something about it.”

“Why darling, I thought you’d never ask.”

“You’re really doing this now? Of all times to pull a stupid voice out of your asshole--”

This time, Richie kisses Eddie.


End file.
